FILMS. 4 EDITIoN UNSERE AFRIKAREISE The film is replete with unexpected reversals and new takes on old back at the past speaks eloquently to our present and future In doin cliches, beginning with the feminist/activist roles of the prostitutes in so, Eastwood has given this old genre potential new life for the next revenging the injury to one of their own: they are not simple pawns or century victims By standing against the powerful and devious Little Bill, they create their own justice. Harris's English Bob is introduced as -Andrew and Gina macdonald a fearsome shooter and a dominating personality, only to be humili- ated and pummelled fatally in front of his newspaperman-cum- promoter(Saul Rubinek), by Little Bill, who has banned guns in his UNSERE AFRIKAREISE own. The deflation of English Bob is completed when we learn that his victims have been unarmed Chinese, and that his hagiography as (Our Trip to Africa) a gunfighter, enhanced by pulp fiction, conceals cowardly and ncompetent behaviour. Austria 1966 The distance between myth and reality is best exemplified by Eastwoods Bill Munny. The director portrays himself unshaven an Director: Peter Kubelka dissolute, wrestling with pigs in a muddy sty and losing-no dialogue is needed to comment on this iconography of western hero passed his Production: Color, 16mm; running time: 12 minutes.Released prime and tragically domesticated. The scene is all the more affecting 1966. Filmed 1961 in Africa given the opening long shot of Eastwood burying his wife on the loneliest prairie imaginable. The decision to pursue the bounty is Photography: Peter Kubelka; editor: Peter Kubelka; sound recordist wonderfully fuzzy and vague, that of a man who has battled with the and editor: Peter Kubelka. bottle and is trying hard to be a responsible father. To all appearances Jaimz Woolvett's Schofield Kid is thetrue gunfighter, a brittle, barely controlled youngster bristling with hostile machismo, danger ous, unpredictable, and insecure. However, his physical myopia extends to his inability to recognize Eastwood as what he might become if he survives. Only after ignominiously killing an unarmed man in an outhouse does he give up his desire to be a gunfighter Sitney, P. Adams, Visionary Film: The American Avant-Garde, New As the film, with an admirably ambling pace, proceeds to show the inevitable working out of the algebra of revenge and violence, we Jutz, Gabriele, and Peter Tscherkassky, Peter Kubelka, Wien, 1995 learn from varying sources and demonstrations that most bullets miss heir mark and that, contrary to what tenderfoot Eastern journalists Articles. and shoot-em-up movies suggest, killing men is not easy, especially Sitney, P. Adams, "Kubelka Concrete(Our Trip to Vienna), "in Film when they are shooting back. Even the battered face of the slimy Culture(New York), Fall 1964 English Bob evokes sympathy. The evidence mounts that a chain of Mekas, Jonas, in Village Voice(New York), 13 October 1966 violence has terrible consequences, from the scarred face of the Bodien, Earl, The Films of Peter Kubelka, ",in Film quarterly prostitute to the illness that affects Eastwood at the prospect of Berkeley), winter 1966-67 resuming his killing career to the beating of Eastwood by Little Bill. Mekas, Jonas, Interview with Kubelka, in Film Culture(New York) There will be no dramatic shootout on Main Street at high noon; rather, violence is messy, bloody, and usually indulged under coverof Sitney, P. Adams, in New Cinema Bulletin(New York), May 1967 night with unfair odds. When Eastwood finally returns to wreak his Telecine(Paris), June 1973 own revenge for Ned,s murder, the action is brutal and the characters Wide Angle(Athens, Ohio), vol 2, no 3, 1978 forgiving: wounded, helpless men are killed where they lie on th Masi. Stefano. *Peter Kubelka. scultore del tem Bianco floor, and being a successful gunfighter is shown as a terrible and e Nero(Rome), January-March 1984 inhuman instinct for effective violence. not as a romantic and he Sterritt. david. ' Kubelka makes Music for r,vol.81,no.115,10May1989 a box office success, winner of five Academy Awards and the Cahiers du Cinema best film of the year, Unforgiven returns the estern to its moral and thematic roots, but with a late 20th-century In 1961 Peter Kubelka was asked to make a documentary about ensibility of cynicism, irony, and worldweariness. The cliche that a group of Europeans on an African hunting trip. He accompanied violence begets violence is confirmed, as is its appeal: violence them, recorded many hours of film and sound, and then spent five actually does resolve problems, though at an enormous cost even to its years editing this material into a most unconventional film. The result, survivors. Not an easy tool, violence can turn unpredictably against its Unsere Afrikareise, is one of the most densely packed 12 minutes in long-term practitioners. Revenge and honour prove complex ques film history, and makes truly extraordinary use of the creative tions, and apparently simple situations have a logic of their own that possibilities of sound complicates and entraps. Reputation, a commodity often created and Kubelka bases his use of sound on the notion that accompanying abused, leads to unwelcome pressures to conform to the expectations an image with its own synchronous sound adds little, and merely of others This sometimes sad. sometimes comic. melancholic look imitates nature: rather, he weds an image to a sound recorded
FILMS, 4 UNSERE AFRIKAREISE th EDITION 1263 The film is replete with unexpected reversals and new takes on old clichés, beginning with the feminist/activist roles of the prostitutes in revenging the injury to one of their own: they are not simple pawns or victims. By standing against the powerful and devious Little Bill, they create their own justice. Harris’s English Bob is introduced as a fearsome shooter and a dominating personality, only to be humiliated and pummelled fatally in front of his newspaperman-cumpromoter (Saul Rubinek), by Little Bill, who has banned guns in his town. The deflation of English Bob is completed when we learn that his victims have been unarmed Chinese, and that his hagiography as a gunfighter, enhanced by pulp fiction, conceals cowardly and incompetent behaviour. The distance between myth and reality is best exemplified by Eastwood’s Bill Munny. The director portrays himself unshaven and dissolute, wrestling with pigs in a muddy sty and losing—no dialogue is needed to comment on this iconography of western hero passed his prime and tragically domesticated. The scene is all the more affecting given the opening long shot of Eastwood burying his wife on the loneliest prairie imaginable. The decision to pursue the bounty is wonderfully fuzzy and vague, that of a man who has battled with the bottle and is trying hard to be a responsible father. To all appearances Jaimz Woolvett’s Schofield Kid is the ‘‘true’’ gunfighter, a brittle, barely controlled youngster bristling with hostile machismo, dangerous, unpredictable, and insecure. However, his physical myopia extends to his inability to recognize Eastwood as what he might become if he survives. Only after ignominiously killing an unarmed man in an outhouse does he give up his desire to be a gunfighter. As the film, with an admirably ambling pace, proceeds to show the inevitable working out of the algebra of revenge and violence, we learn from varying sources and demonstrations that most bullets miss their mark and that, contrary to what tenderfoot Eastern journalists and shoot-em-up movies suggest, killing men is not easy, especially when they are shooting back. Even the battered face of the slimy English Bob evokes sympathy. The evidence mounts that a chain of violence has terrible consequences, from the scarred face of the prostitute to the illness that affects Eastwood at the prospect of resuming his killing career to the beating of Eastwood by Little Bill. There will be no dramatic shootout on Main Street at high noon; rather, violence is messy, bloody, and usually indulged under cover of night with unfair odds. When Eastwood finally returns to wreak his own revenge for Ned’s murder, the action is brutal and the characters unforgiving: wounded, helpless men are killed where they lie on the floor, and being a successful gunfighter is shown as a terrible and inhuman instinct for effective violence, not as a romantic and heroic figure. A box office success, winner of five Academy Awards and the Cahiers du Cinema best film of the year, Unforgiven returns the Western to its moral and thematic roots, but with a late 20th-century sensibility of cynicism, irony, and worldweariness. The cliché that violence begets violence is confirmed, as is its appeal: violence actually does resolve problems, though at an enormous cost even to its survivors. Not an easy tool, violence can turn unpredictably against its long-term practitioners. Revenge and honour prove complex questions, and apparently simple situations have a logic of their own that complicates and entraps. Reputation, a commodity often created and abused, leads to unwelcome pressures to conform to the expectations of others. This sometimes sad, sometimes comic, melancholic look back at the past speaks eloquently to our present and future. In doing so, Eastwood has given this old genre potential new life for the next century. —Andrew and Gina Macdonald UNSERE AFRIKAREISE (Our Trip to Africa) Austria, 1966 Director: Peter Kubelka Production: Color, 16mm; running time: 12½ minutes. Released 1966. Filmed 1961 in Africa. Photography: Peter Kubelka; editor: Peter Kubelka; sound recordist and editor: Peter Kubelka. Publications Books: Sitney, P. Adams, Visionary Film: The American Avant-Garde, New York, 1979. Jutz, Gabriele, and Peter Tscherkassky, Peter Kubelka, Wien, 1995. Articles: Sitney, P. Adams, ‘‘Kubelka Concrete (Our Trip to Vienna),’’ in Film Culture (New York), Fall 1964. Mekas, Jonas, in Village Voice (New York), 13 October 1966. Bodien, Earl, ‘‘The Films of Peter Kubelka,’’ in Film Quarterly (Berkeley), Winter 1966–67. Mekas, Jonas, Interview with Kubelka, in Film Culture (New York), Spring 1967. Sitney, P. Adams, in New Cinema Bulletin (New York), May 1967. Téléciné (Paris), June 1973. Wide Angle (Athens, Ohio), vol. 2, no. 3, 1978. Masi, Stefano, ‘‘Peter Kubelka, scultore del tempo,’’ in Bianco e Nero (Rome), January-March 1984. Sterritt, David, ‘‘Kubelka Makes ‘Music for the Eye,’’’ in The Christian Science Monitor, vol. 81, no. 115, 10 May 1989. *** In 1961 Peter Kubelka was asked to make a documentary about a group of Europeans on an African hunting trip. He accompanied them, recorded many hours of film and sound, and then spent five years editing this material into a most unconventional film. The result, Unsere Afrikareise, is one of the most densely packed 12½ minutes in film history, and makes truly extraordinary use of the creative possibilities of sound. Kubelka bases his use of sound on the notion that accompanying an image with its own synchronous sound adds little, and merely imitates nature; rather, he weds an image to a sound recorded
UNSERE AFRIKAREISE FILMS. 4 EDITIoN elsewhere. These combinations, which he calls"sync events, are toward their surroundings. Kubelka's cuts often suggest that a Euro- often matched quite precisely in timing and rhythm, as when a gun- pean has just""shot"an African, or the forest itself. The Africans, by shot appears to shoot a hat off a mans head; or when white and black contrast, appear as part of nature, rather than separate from it. nen shake hands to the sound of thunder. By combining disparate It would be a serious mistake, however, to limit ones perception elements, Kubelka makesarticulations"(his words), which fuse of the film to such themes. What is most extraordinary about separate pieces both rhythmically and thematically in a manner Kubelka s achievement is not the specific connections he establishes possible only in film. between elements, but rather the system that the entire network of Kubelka's juxtaposition of images in Unsere Afrikareise follows connections form. Repeated viewings of the film reveal it as too similar lines. Images taken at different times and places are cut multiple in its implications to be resolvable into a single interpreta- together, often on matched movements, to create momentary illusions tion. Thematic results of specific articulations are merely a few of continuity. The images are disparate enough, however, so that the aspects of many in the film. Kubelka's almost musical form estab- viewer is never fooled. A hunter shakes an Africans hand and we cut lishes a grand relation between virtually every image and sound and to a zebra's leg, shaking similarly, as if the hunter were shaking it, but every other across the entire film. The resulting multitude of connec- the hunter is nowhere in the shot. when the next shot reveals that the ions is expressive of many, rather than a few, possibilities. The zebra is being skinned, we understand that while the hunter viewer is ultimately led out of time, to contemplate these connections literally causing the zebras leg to move, there was a deeper causal in memory, and to regard the film as if it were a monument erected connection between the two shakes. Kubelka's juxtapositions are a record of civilization. not as a statement on it but as a kind anything but arbitrary: they reveal truths inherent in his material totem for it The intensely concentrated quality of Unsere Afrikareise stems in part from the multitude of connections between image and image, sound and sound and image and sound that kubelka orchestrated into a unified whole. There is often a temptation to read direct thematic statements in many of the films articulations. Editing connections are continually made on the white hunters'gazes, hand gestures, and gun- THE UNVANQUISHED pointing, linking those actions to suggest the Europeans'aggression See THE APU TRILOGY
UNSERE AFRIKAREISE FILMS, 4th EDITION 1264 elsewhere. These combinations, which he calls ‘‘sync events,’’ are often matched quite precisely in timing and rhythm, as when a gunshot appears to shoot a hat off a man’s head; or when white and black men shake hands to the sound of thunder. By combining disparate elements, Kubelka makes ‘‘articulations’’ (his words), which fuse separate pieces both rhythmically and thematically in a manner possible only in film. Kubelka’s juxtaposition of images in Unsere Afrikareise follows similar lines. Images taken at different times and places are cut together, often on matched movements, to create momentary illusions of continuity. The images are disparate enough, however, so that the viewer is never fooled. A hunter shakes an African’s hand and we cut to a zebra’s leg, shaking similarly, as if the hunter were shaking it, but the hunter is nowhere in the shot. When the next shot reveals that the zebra is being skinned, we understand that while the hunter was not literally causing the zebra’s leg to move, there was a deeper causal connection between the two shakes. Kubelka’s juxtapositions are anything but arbitrary; they reveal truths inherent in his material. The intensely concentrated quality of Unsere Afrikareise stems in part from the multitude of connections between image and image, sound and sound, and image and sound that Kubelka orchestrated into a unified whole. There is often a temptation to read direct thematic statements in many of the film’s articulations. Editing connections are continually made on the white hunters’ gazes, hand gestures, and gunpointing, linking those actions to suggest the Europeans’ aggression toward their surroundings. Kubelka’s cuts often suggest that a European has just ‘‘shot’’ an African, or the forest itself. The Africans, by contrast, appear as part of nature, rather than separate from it. It would be a serious mistake, however, to limit one’s perception of the film to such themes. What is most extraordinary about Kubelka’s achievement is not the specific connections he establishes between elements, but rather the system that the entire network of connections form. Repeated viewings of the film reveal it as too multiple in its implications to be resolvable into a single interpretation. Thematic results of specific articulations are merely a few aspects of many in the film. Kubelka’s almost musical form establishes a grand relation between virtually every image and sound and every other across the entire film. The resulting multitude of connections is expressive of many, rather than a few, possibilities. The viewer is ultimately led out of time, to contemplate these connections in memory, and to regard the film as if it were a monument erected as a record of civilization, not as a statement on it but as a kind of totem for it. —Fred Camper THE UNVANQUISHED See THE APU TRILOGY
LES VACANCES DE MONSIEUR Cast: Jacques Tati(M. Hulon): Nathalie Pascaud(Martine ): Michele HULOT Rolla(Aunt): Valentine Camay(Old maid): Louis Perrault(Boat- man): Andre Dubois( Colonel); Lucien Fregis(Hotel proprietor) Raymond Carl (Waiter) Mr. Hulot’ s Holiday) Publications france, 1951 Books Director: Jacques Tati Carriere, Jean-Claude, Monsieur Hulot's Holiday, New York 1959 Cauliez, Arman, Jacques Tati, Paris, 1968. Production: Cady Films/Discina; black and white, 35mm; running Armes, Roy, French Cinema Since 1946, Cranbury, New Jersey, 1970 time: 93 minutes. Released 1951 Mast, Gerald, The Comic Mind, New York, 1973: revised edition Chicago, 1979. Screenplay: Jacques Tati and Henri Marquet: photography: J Gilliatt, Penelope, Jacques Tati, London, 1976 Maddock, Brent, The Films of Jacques Tati, Metuchen, New Jer Mercanton and J. Mouselle: production designer: Henri Schmitt sey,1977 music: Alain Romans Fischer, Lucy, "Homo Ludens": An Analysis of Four Films by Jacques Tati, Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1978 Fischer, Lucy, Jacques Tati: A Guide to References and Resource Boston. 1983 Harding, James, Jacques Tati: Frame by Frame, London, 1984 Chion, Michel, Jacques Tati, Paris, 1987; English translation by Monique Vinas, Patrick Williamson, and Antonio D'Alfonso Toronto. 1997. Haberer, Peter, Aspekte der Komik in den Filmen von Jacques Tati, Bellos, David, Jacques Tati: His Life and Art, London, 1999. Weiler. A H, in New York Times, 20 February 1952. " Mr Hulot, in New Yorker, 17 July 1954 Mayer, A C, " The Art of Jacques Tati, in Quarterly of Film, Radio, and Television(Berkeley), Fall 1955 Jacques Tati, in Film(London), September-October 1958 Simon. John. "Hulot: or The Common Man as observer and Critic Yale French Review(New Haven), no. 23, 1959. Armes, Roy, The Comic Art of Jacques Tati, in Screen (London) February 1970 Thompson, Kristin, Parameters of the Open Film: Les vacances de Hulot, in Wide Angle(Athens, Ohio), no 4, 1977 Chevassu, F, in image er Son(Paris), May 197 Decaux, E, in Cinematographe(Paris), May 1977. Tuominen, T, in Filmihullu(helsinki). no 5, 1978 Prochnow, C, in Film und Fernsehen(East Berlin), vol 7. no 9. 1979 Les vacances de monsieur hulot Tati Issue, in Cahiers du Cinema(Paris), September 1979
1265 LES VACANCES DE MONSIEUR V HULOT (Mr. Hulot’s Holiday) France, 1951 Director: Jacques Tati Production: Cady Films/Discina; black and white, 35mm; running time: 93 minutes. Released 1951. Screenplay: Jacques Tati and Henri Marquet; photography: J. Mercanton and J. Mouselle; production designer: Henri Schmitt; music: Alain Romans. Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot Cast: Jacques Tati (M. Hulot); Nathalie Pascaud (Martine); Michele Rolla (Aunt); Valentine Camay (Old maid); Louis Perrault (Boatman); André Dubois (Colonel); Lucien Frégis (Hotel proprietor); Raymond Carl (Waiter). Publications Books: Carriere, Jean-Claude, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday, New York 1959. Cauliez, Armans, Jacques Tati, Paris, 1968. Armes, Roy, French Cinema Since 1946, Cranbury, New Jersey, 1970. Mast, Gerald, The Comic Mind, New York, 1973; revised edition, Chicago, 1979. Gilliatt, Penelope, Jacques Tati, London, 1976. Maddock, Brent, The Films of Jacques Tati, Metuchen, New Jersey, 1977. Fischer, Lucy, ‘‘Homo Ludens’’: An Analysis of Four Films by Jacques Tati, Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1978. Fischer, Lucy, Jacques Tati: A Guide to References and Resources, Boston, 1983. Harding, James, Jacques Tati: Frame by Frame, London, 1984. Chion, Michel, Jacques Tati, Paris, 1987; English translation by Monique Viñas, Patrick Williamson, and Antonio D’Alfonso, Toronto, 1997. Haberer, Peter, Aspekte der Komik in den Filmen von Jacques Tati, Alfeld/Leine, 1996. Bellos, David, Jacques Tati: His Life and Art, London, 1999. Articles: Weiler, A. H., in New York Times, 20 February 1952. Time (New York), 31 March 1952. ‘‘Mr. Hulot,’’ in New Yorker, 17 July 1954. Mayer, A. C., ‘‘The Art of Jacques Tati,’’ in Quarterly of Film, Radio, and Television (Berkeley), Fall 1955. ‘‘Jacques Tati,’’ in Film (London), September-October 1958. Simon, John, ‘‘Hulot; or, The Common Man as Observer and Critic,’’ in Yale French Review (New Haven), no. 23, 1959. Armes, Roy, ‘‘The Comic Art of Jacques Tati,’’ in Screen (London), February 1970. Thompson, Kristin, ‘‘Parameters of the Open Film: Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot,” in Wide Angle (Athens, Ohio), no. 4, 1977. Chevassu, F., in Image et Son (Paris), May 1977. Decaux, E., in Cinématographe (Paris), May 1977. Tuominen, T., in Filmihullu (Helsinki), no. 5, 1978. Prochnow, C., in Film und Fernsehen (East Berlin), vol. 7, no. 9, 1979. ‘‘Tati Issue,’’ in Cahiers du Cinéma (Paris), September 1979
LES VACANCES DE MONSIEUR HULOT FILMS. 4 EDITIoN Codelli, L, in Positif( Paris), May 1982 The English version of Les vacances is preceded by a warning: Magny, Joel, and others, in Cinema(Paris), January 1983 Don't look for a plot, for a holiday is meant purely for fun. The Benson, Sheila, Mr. Hulot's Holiday, in CoEvolution quarterly, disingenuous wording disguises a serious challenge to the audience- vol 38. Summer 1983 what regular filmgoer would agree that""funwere Carriere, Jean-Claude, in American Film(Washington, D. C ) Decem- contradictory terms? For Tati, the renunciation of narrative is a liber ber 1985 ating act; M. Hulot's holiday will also be a vacation for the viewer, 9 Hemming, Roy, in Video Review, vol. 1l, no 4, July 1990 minutes in which we are free to follow our own impulses, and not Rimbau, E, in Nosferatu(San Sebastian), no 10, October 1992 submit to the bosss orders. The story-teller is no longer in charge Jullier, Laurent, ""Lart des bruits chez Jacques Tati, in Focales, there's no one hurrying us from one event to another, telling us where no.2,1993 to look, when to laugh, what to feel. Tati's film is the exact opposite of questieau, K, ""Exit, in Sinema, no. 116, July/August 1993 escapist"entertainment, in the sense that it doesnt relieve us of our Segers, J., in Film en Televisie Video(brussels), no 434, Septem- own emotions and perceptions. It offers another kind of escape ber 1993 perhaps a more profound one-an escape from domination, from Sopenia Balordi, A. Emma, and Marie-France Lorente, "Les(autres) regimentation-a cinematic flight to freedom vacances de Monsieur Hulot, ' in Humoresques, no 6, Febru Les vacances has no plot, but it does have a structure. The film ary 1995 begins and ends with images of waves washing onto an empty Salonen, A, Hullunkurinen Herra Hulot, in Filmihullu(helsinki) beach-images of permanence, steadiness, rhythmic motion. The no.4/5.1997 steady, natural rhythm embodied by the waves is echoed in the films pronounced alteration of day and night; the film thus acqui a powerful and unique sense of real time marked by natural events. This rhythm is never monotonous-there is also a strong sense of an Les vacances de m. hulot is one of the most radical films ever ebb and filow of energy, of movement giving way to inertia and then made-the Sacre du printemps of the movies. If its radicalism has regenerating itself. The day belongs to the outdoors-the open spaces never been fully perceived-it has entertained audiences around the of the beach, the sea, the countryside. Morning is announced by the world. rather than scandalize them-it is because Les vacances eautiful blonde girl, Martine, standing on her balcony and looking a comedy, and everyone knows that comedies aren't to be taken down at the world below. She confers a sort of blessing, and the world riously. But without Les vacances, there would be no Jean-Luc omes into motion, energized by the lovely saxophone line of Alain Godard, no Jean-Marie Straub, no Marguerite Duras-no modern Romans'theme music Night belongs to the hotel, with the guests cinema. With his 63 film, Jacques Tati drove the first decisive crowded into the tiny lobby, silently reading, playing cards, or wedge between cinema and classical narration. To do so, Tati had to listening to the radio Overlaid on this natural rhythm is the human return to the prehistory of movies-the age of Lumiere, Melies, rhythm of habit-exemplified by the ringing of the noontime dinner Porter, and their anonymous predecessors, before the story-telling bell, but reflected in a dozen specific ways in the behavior of the priority was firmly encoded in the way films were shot and edited-in minor characters-the businessman continually called away to the order to find a non-narrative way of seeing. The gaze of Tati's camera phone, the English couple out for their promenade, the student as in the earliest films, almost entirely innocent: it does not make lecturing on radical politics. Repetition is a traditional comic device, he value judgements, the selections of one element force a story out of an undifferentiated wo shoots without seems to have captured the heartbeat of the world. The film,'s other structuring principle is psychological. The early sequences are concentrated on the beach and the hotel, but as these 4 Tati pretends that D. w. Griffith never existed. He holds his shots locations lose their novelty for the guests, they wander further and ere the classical, story-telling grammar would demand that he cut further afield-to the tennis courts, to a picnic, even(accidently)to away to another; he prefers long shots over close-ups, the embracing a funeral. Sheer boredom--the chief danger that a plotless film overview to the significant detail. One of the opening gags in Les invites-is thus incorporated into the film; it becomes a kind of ally, vacances involves a group of passengers running back and forth from pointing the movie in new directions. Both of these forward impulses- one train platform to another, misled by the unintelligible announce- repetition and boredom-are exceedingly subtle; because they oper ments on the P.A. system as to which track their train will arrive on. ate both on the level of subject(the repetition and possible boredom of Griffith would film the scene with insert shots of passengers'pan- a resort vacation)and of style(traditional comic techniques, the need icked faces, and perhaps cut back and forth between the two tracks to to move to a new situation when the first has become exhausted ), they emphasize the suspense-will the 1 make their train or not? are almost imperceptible. But Tati simply mounts his camera on the roof of the station, where he Tatis own character, the tall, angular, perpetually astonished M has a clear downward overview of the whole scene and films the hulot, is as often a straight man to the other characters as he is action in a single, continuous shot. As the group of travellers dashes a comedian. Tati doesn't want to foreground himself as a star or as the I to foregroun the humor would becomes a kind of warm-up exercise for the film that is to follow: the much on the spectators freedom of choice(by the time of the 1967 viewer is led to explore the entire field of the shot, from near to far and Playtime, Hulot has almost disappeared). hulot does not embody the from side to side, top to bottom. The viewer learns to direct his freedom of perception that the film strives for as much as he points the mentions for himself; Tati will not make the choice for him. way to it, through his own spectacular failures of perception. Hulot 1266
LES VACANCES DE MONSIEUR HULOT FILMS, 4th EDITION 1266 Codelli, L., in Positif (Paris), May 1982. Magny, Joel, and others, in Cinema (Paris), January 1983. Benson, Sheila, ‘‘Mr. Hulot’s Holiday,’’ in CoEvolution Quarterly, vol. 38, Summer 1983. Carriere, Jean-Claude, in American Film (Washington, D.C.), December 1985. Hemming, Roy, in Video Review, vol. 11, no. 4, July 1990. Rimbau, E., in Nosferatu (San Sebastian), no. 10, October 1992. Jullier, Laurent, ‘‘L’art des bruits chez Jacques Tati,’’ in Focales, no. 2, 1993. Maquestieau, K., ‘‘Exit,’’ in Sinema, no. 116, July/August 1993. Segers, J., in Film en Televisie + Video (Brussels), no. 434, September 1993. Sopeña Balordi, A. Emma, and Marie-France Lorente, ‘‘Les (autres) vacances de Monsieur Hulot,’’ in Humoresques, no. 6, February 1995. Salonen, A., ‘‘Hullunkurinen Herra Hulot,’’ in Filmihullu (Helsinki), no. 4/5, 1997. *** Les vacances de M. Hulot is one of the most radical films ever made—the Sacre du printemps of the movies. If its radicalism has never been fully perceived—it has entertained audiences around the world, rather than scandalize them—it is because Les vacances is a comedy, and everyone knows that comedies aren’t to be taken seriously. But without Les vacances, there would be no Jean-Luc Godard, no Jean-Marie Straub, no Marguerite Duras—no modern cinema. With his 1953 film, Jacques Tati drove the first decisive wedge between cinema and classical narration. To do so, Tati had to return to the prehistory of movies—the age of Lumière, Méliès, Porter, and their anonymous predecessors, before the story-telling priority was firmly encoded in the way films were shot and edited—in order to find a non-narrative way of seeing. The gaze of Tati’s camera is, as in the earliest films, almost entirely innocent: it does not make the value judgements, the selections of one element over another, that force a story out of an undifferentiated world. Tati shoots without prejudice, without priorities; he sees (or attempts to see, within the limits of the frame) everything. Tati pretends that D. W. Griffith never existed. He holds his shots where the classical, story-telling grammar would demand that he cut away to another; he prefers long shots over close-ups, the embracing overview to the significant detail. One of the opening gags in Les vacances involves a group of passengers running back and forth from one train platform to another, misled by the unintelligible announcements on the P.A. system as to which track their train will arrive on. Griffith would film the scene with insert shots of passengers’ panicked faces, and perhaps cut back and forth between the two tracks to emphasize the suspense—will the passengers make their train or not? But Tati simply mounts his camera on the roof of the station, where he has a clear, downward overview of the whole scene, and films the action in a single, continuous shot. As the group of travellers dashes from the far track to the near, from background to foreground, the shot becomes a kind of warm-up exercise for the film that is to follow: the viewer is led to explore the entire field of the shot, from near to far and from side to side, top to bottom. The viewer learns to direct his attentions for himself; Tati will not make the choice for him. The English version of Les vacances is preceded by a warning: ‘‘Don’t look for a plot, for a holiday is meant purely for fun.’’ The disingenuous wording disguises a serious challenge to the audience— what regular filmgoer would agree that ‘‘plot’’ and ‘‘fun’’ were contradictory terms? For Tati, the renunciation of narrative is a liberating act; M. Hulot’s holiday will also be a vacation for the viewer, 93 minutes in which we are free to follow our own impulses, and not submit to the boss’s orders. The story-teller is no longer in charge; there’s no one hurrying us from one event to another, telling us where to look, when to laugh, what to feel. Tati’s film is the exact opposite of ‘‘escapist’’ entertainment, in the sense that it doesn’t relieve us of our own emotions and perceptions. It offers another kind of escape, perhaps a more profound one—an escape from domination, from regimentation—a cinematic flight to freedom. Les vacances has no plot, but it does have a structure. The film begins and ends with images of waves washing onto an empty beach—images of permanence, steadiness, rhythmic motion. The steady, natural rhythm embodied by the waves is echoed in the film’s pronounced alteration of day and night; the film thus acquires a powerful and unique sense of real time marked by natural events. This rhythm is never monotonous—there is also a strong sense of an ebb and flow of energy, of movement giving way to inertia and then regenerating itself. The day belongs to the outdoors—the open spaces of the beach, the sea, the countryside. Morning is announced by the beautiful blonde girl, Martine, standing on her balcony and looking down at the world below. She confers a sort of blessing, and the world comes into motion, energized by the lovely saxophone line of Alain Romans’ theme music. Night belongs to the hotel, with the guests crowded into the tiny lobby, silently reading, playing cards, or listening to the radio. Overlaid on this natural rhythm is the human rhythm of habit—exemplified by the ringing of the noontime dinner bell, but reflected in a dozen specific ways in the behavior of the minor characters—the businessman continually called away to the phone, the English couple out for their promenade, the student lecturing on radical politics. Repetition is a traditional comic device, but in Les vacances, it acquires a transcendent, poetic quality; Tati seems to have captured the heartbeat of the world. The film’s other structuring principle is psychological. The early sequences are concentrated on the beach and the hotel, but as these locations lose their novelty for the guests, they wander further and further afield—to the tennis courts, to a picnic, even (accidently) to a funeral. Sheer boredom—the chief danger that a plotless film invites—is thus incorporated into the film; it becomes a kind of ally, pointing the movie in new directions. Both of these forward impulses— repetition and boredom—are exceedingly subtle; because they operate both on the level of subject (the repetition and possible boredom of a resort vacation) and of style (traditional comic techniques, the need to move to a new situation when the first has become exhausted), they are almost imperceptible. Tati’s own character, the tall, angular, perpetually astonished M. Hulot, is as often a straight-man to the other characters as he is a comedian. Tati doesn’t want to foreground himself as a star or as the center of the humor, because doing so would mean intruding too much on the spectator’s freedom of choice (by the time of the 1967 Playtime, Hulot has almost disappeared). Hulot does not embody the freedom of perception that the film strives for as much as he points the way to it, through his own spectacular failures of perception. Hulot
FILMS. 4th EDItION VALAHOL EUROPABAN does not see(or hear-many of the films most imaginative gags Articles involve sound) the same way the other characters do: his curse is to constantly perceive either too little (as when he lights a match in Eorsi, I, in Filmkultura, (Budapest), January-February 1977 a storeroom full of fireworks)or too much(as when he's paralyzed by Dura, M, in Jeune Cinema(Paris), December 1979-January 1980 the fear that a wad of taffy will drop too low on its pulling hook) Gillisen, Olivier, in Image ef Son(Paris), November 1979. Hulot is unable to control this attention--to focus his look. but in this Trosin, A, in Iskusstvo Kino(Moscow), July 1983 context. where the other characters have learned to focus their Hungarian Cinema Sectionof Filmfaust(Frankfurt), March attentions so tightly and narrowly that they are no longer able to see April 1984. and enjoy the world around them, Hulot's handicap is a privileged Filmkultura(Budapest), February and March 1985 gift; in the land of the one-eyed, Tati suggests the blind man is king Geza von Radvanyi, in Variety(New York), vol. 325, 3 Decem- Hulot's under- and over-perceptions pose a threat to the established ber1986. social order, which depends on a cramped restricted way of seeing. de la Breteque, F,"'Une 'logistique de la perception: guerre et His misadventures attract those few among the guests-a young boy, representation cinematographique de l'espace, in Cahiers de la an elderly gentleman, and briefly, the blonde girl-who aren't part of Cinematheque(Perpgnan, France), December 1991 that order, who havent yet lost their innocence of vision or who have been able to regain it. with Les vacances de m. hulot, Tati tells us how we can join them. Somewhere in the remote region, the war ends In the midst of ruined cities and houses in the streets, in rural hamlets, everywhere parents. Abandoned, hungry, and in rags, defenseless and humiliated they wander through the world Hunger drives them. Little streams of orphans merge into a river which rushes forward and submerges everything in its path. The children do not know any feeling; they THE VAGABOND know only the world of their enemies. They fight, steal, struggle for See awara a mouthful of food, and violence is merely a means to get it. A gang led by Cahoun finds a refuge in an abandoned castle and encounters an old composer who has voluntarily retired into solitude from a world of hatred, treason, and crime. How can they find a common ground, how can they become mutual friends? The castle becomes VALAHOL EUROPABAN their hiding place but possibly it will also be their first home which they may organize and must defend. But even for this, the price will be very high. Hungary, 1947 To this simple story, the journalist, writer, poet, scriptwriter, movie director, and film theoretician Bela Balazs applied many years Director: Geza Radvanyi of experience. He and the director Geza Radvanyi created a work which opened a new postwar chapter in Hungarian film. Surprisingly, this film has not lost any of its impact over the years, especially on Production: Mafirt, Radvanyi produkio; black and white, 35mm a profound philosophical level. That is to say, it is not merely a movie length: 2812 meters. Released 1947, Hungary about war; it is not important in what location and in what period of time it takes place. It is a story outside of time about the joyle Screenplay: Bela Belazs, Geza Radvanyi, Judit Fejer, and Felix hildren who pay dearly for the cruel war games of aale ess fate of Mariassy: photography: Barnabas Hegyi; music: Denes Buday At the time it was premiered, the movie was enthusiastically received by the critics. The main roles were taken by streetwise boys of a children,'s group who created their roles improvisationally in Cast: Arthur Somlay(Peter Simon): Miklos Gabor(Boy): Zsuzsa close contact with a few professional actors, and in the children Banki(Girl): Gyorgi Bardi: Laszlo Kemeny; Leci Horvath. acting their own fresh experience of wars turmoil appears to be reflected. At the same time, their performance fits admirably into the mosaic of a very complex movie language. Balazs's influence re- vealed itself, above all, in the introductory sequences: an airraid on an amusement park, seen in a montage of dramatic situations evoking the last spasms of war, where, undoubtedly, we discern the influence of Books classical Soviet cinematography. Shooting, the boy's escape, the locomotive's wheels, the shadows of soldiers with submachine guns Paimann's Filmlisten, Vienna, 1949 sequences in which varying shots and expressive sharp sounds are Gregor, W, and Patalas, E, Geschicht des modernen Films, emphasized. a perfectly planned screenplay avoided all elements of Gutersloh. 196 sentimentality, time-worn stereotypes of wronged children, romani- Waldenkranz, R, and v. Arpe, Das Buch vom Film, Berlin, 1967 cism and cheap simplification. The authors succeeded in bridging the 1267
FILMS, 4 VALAHOL EUROPABAN th EDITION 1267 does not see (or hear—many of the film’s most imaginative gags involve sound) the same way the other characters do; his curse is to constantly perceive either too little (as when he lights a match in a storeroom full of fireworks) or too much (as when he’s paralyzed by the fear that a wad of taffy will drop too low on its pulling hook). Hulot is unable to control this attention—to focus his look. But in this context, where the other characters have learned to focus their attentions so tightly and narrowly that they are no longer able to see and enjoy the world around them, Hulot’s handicap is a privileged gift; in the land of the one-eyed, Tati suggests the blind man is king. Hulot’s under- and over-perceptions pose a threat to the established social order, which depends on a cramped restricted way of seeing. His misadventures attract those few among the guests—a young boy, an elderly gentleman, and briefly, the blonde girl—who aren’t part of that order, who haven’t yet lost their innocence of vision or who have been able to regain it. With Les vacances de M. Hulot, Tati tells us how we can join them. —Dave Kehr THE VAGABOND See AWARA VALAHOL EUROPABAN Hungary, 1947 Director: Géza Radványi Production: Mafirt, Radványi produkió; black and white, 35mm; length: 2812 meters. Released 1947, Hungary. Screenplay: Béla Belázs, Géza Radványi, Judit Fejér, and Felix Mariássy; photography: Barnabás Hegyi; music: Dénes Buday. Cast: Arthur Somlay (Péter Simon); Miklós Gábor (Boy); Zsuzsa Bánki (Girl); Györgi Bárdi; László Kemény; Leci Horváth. Publications Books: Paimann’s Filmlisten, Vienna, 1949. Gregor, W., and Patalas, E., Geschicht des modernen Films, Gutersloh, 1965. Waldenkranz, R., and V. Arpe, Das Buch vom Film, Berlin, 1967. Articles: Eorsi, I., in Filmkultura, (Budapest), January-February 1977. Dura, M., in Jeune Cinéma (Paris), December 1979-January 1980. Gillisen, Olivier, in Image et Son (Paris), November 1979. Trosin, A., in Iskusstvo Kino (Moscow), July 1983. ‘‘Hungarian Cinema Section’’ of Filmfaust (Frankfurt), MarchApril 1984. Filmkultura (Budapest), February and March 1985. ‘‘Geza von Radvanyi,’’ in Variety (New York), vol. 325, 3 December 1986. de la Breteque, F., ‘‘Une ‘logistique de la perception’: guerre et representation cinematographique de l’espace,’’ in Cahiers de la Cinémathèque (Perpgnan, France), December 1991. *** Somewhere in the remote region, the war ends. In the midst of ruined cities and houses in the streets, in rural hamlets, everywhere where people still live, are children who have lost their homes and parents. Abandoned, hungry, and in rags, defenseless and humiliated, they wander through the world. Hunger drives them. Little streams of orphans merge into a river which rushes forward and submerges everything in its path. The children do not know any feeling; they know only the world of their enemies. They fight, steal, struggle for a mouthful of food, and violence is merely a means to get it. A gang led by Cahoun finds a refuge in an abandoned castle and encounters an old composer who has voluntarily retired into solitude from a world of hatred, treason, and crime. How can they find a common ground, how can they become mutual friends? The castle becomes their hiding place but possibly it will also be their first home which they may organize and must defend. But even for this, the price will be very high. To this simple story, the journalist, writer, poet, scriptwriter, movie director, and film theoretician Béla Balázs applied many years of experience. He and the director Géza Radványi created a work which opened a new postwar chapter in Hungarian film. Surprisingly, this film has not lost any of its impact over the years, especially on a profound philosophical level. That is to say, it is not merely a movie about war; it is not important in what location and in what period of time it takes place. It is a story outside of time about the joyless fate of children who pay dearly for the cruel war games of adults. At the time it was premiered, the movie was enthusiastically received by the critics. The main roles were taken by streetwise boys of a children’s group who created their roles improvisationally in close contact with a few professional actors, and in the children’s acting their own fresh experience of war’s turmoil appears to be reflected. At the same time, their performance fits admirably into the mosaic of a very complex movie language. Balázs’s influence revealed itself, above all, in the introductory sequences: an air raid on an amusement park, seen in a montage of dramatic situations evoking the last spasms of war, where, undoubtedly, we discern the influence of classical Soviet cinematography. Shooting, the boy’s escape, the locomotive’s wheels, the shadows of soldiers with submachine guns, the sound of a whistle—the images are linked together in abrupt sequences in which varying shots and expressive sharp sounds are emphasized. A perfectly planned screenplay avoided all elements of sentimentality, time-worn stereotypes of wronged children, romanticism and cheap simplification. The authors succeeded in bridging the